


those asshole neighbours, the Negans

by bubblewrapstargirl



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Bitter Rick, Business Tycoon Negan, Implied Mpreg, Implied Relationships, M/M, PTA Soccer Mom Carl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-07 07:54:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8789740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubblewrapstargirl/pseuds/bubblewrapstargirl
Summary: u just know Carl is a pushy PTA Mom who volunteers to help coach the kids soccer team so he can personally cheerlead his little cherub, but has to be physically restrained from getting into fistfights with the Ref because “that absolutely was a goal are u blind???!!! I literally have one eye asshole and I still saw it go in-”Everyone side-eyes them in the playground trying to calculate the age gap, unsure if Negan got himself a midlife-crisis trophy and Carl is just waiting for him to die because he’s a golddigging hussy but no one says shit to their faces cause Negan is rich as fuck and probably owns half the town, and he’s on the board of governors and all that, so surely he must be a trustworthy guy???Though who knows how he deals with that hothead of a husband, do u remember that time at the bake sale when Carl literally launched himself over the cookie table yelling “you got something to say? Come at me Brenda!” and Negan actually had to pick him up and carry him out over his shoulder to get him to chill





	

Carl claps his hands in quick succession to chivvy his recalcitrant children out of the door. It’s Monday morning so they’re dragging their feet and moaning, though Carl doesn’t know why. His little hellions genuinely love school. Dwight’s a brainbox, top of all his classes, and his teacher is making noises about him moving up a grade. Carl’s not sure about separating him from all his friends, though; it seems harsh, more punshment than reward. Little Ron is still only doing half-days, but he comes home every day with glue and glitter and paint in his hair, brandishing artwork for the fridge door.

Carl gladly indulges this art habit, proud of all his babies’ achievements, though it makes his husband wince at the sight of deformed Labradors made out of macaroni. They apparently give him 'the stink eye' whenever he gets a beer. But as a general rule, Carl ignores his husband’s useless domestic input. Negan is a force to be reckoned with in the business world, but he just gets underfoot in the house.

Today, even Judith, Carl’s normally placid 18 month old, is squirming unhelpfully in her snowsuit. Eager to wriggle out of Carl’s arms and launch herself at the ground. Carl is having none of it. The kids are grumbly cause their Daddy isn’t here to see them off, but sometimes Daddy has to go into work early, and they’ll just have to suck it up. Negan wouldn’t put up with this behaviour, so neither will Carl. He mercilessly corrals them to his SUV, a gas-guzzling monster that was a gift from Negan on their last anniversary. It’s embarrassingly large, but Negan doesn’t really do subtle. Carl likes the car’s safety ratings, and the heated seats, so he didn’t protest overmuch. Besides, in this neighbourhood, it barely stands out, though there’s no denying their house is the biggest. With the new porch renovation, finished last spring, it’s obscenely opulent. There’s a chandelier hanging in the central foyer, wrapped on all sides by the spiral staircase. Carl has a goddamn foyer in his own house, for christsakes.

As he drives towards his parent’s neighbourhood, his personal affluence begins to be more obvious. The houses get smaller; lawns shabbier, cars older. His Dad never did move out of the two bedroom house Carl grew up in, even when his Mom left him for his ex-partner and Carl left for college. Now he lives there with his new wife, whom Carl just hasn’t had the time to get to know.

His schedule’s pretty full, but Carl invited Michonne to lunch this week, and suggested she join him on the fundraising committee, of the school that both their kids attend. Her son is about Ron’s age, and it kind of blows Carl’s mind, that generation gap. Dad would say it was Carl’s fault for messing up the timeline, and marrying so young. But what did Carl go to college for, but to discover his skills and passions and make money from it? It’s hardly his fault that whilst looking for an internship in the gap between first and second year he met a business tycoon that gave him all that and more.

It started out as just fucking, and before Carl knew it he was dropping out, married at nineteen. What can he say, Carl’s passionate about fucking, and clearly skilled at it. Negan’s money was just a bonus. Three kids and a degree in professional housewifery later, Carl still doesn’t regret his choice. He’s sinfully rich, with a husband whose sexual appetite compliments his own, the envy of his town, with three beautiful babies he can afford to spoil rotten. What’s there to regret?

Still, he misses the close relationship he used to have with his dad. He used to do everything with Rick, and now they barely speak. Carl does his best to avoid conflict with his father, who has a weak heart after the incident that forced him into early retirement. Last time they got into a row, it led to a fit which Carl was afraid was his Dad having a heart attack. Since then, he tries to keep to safe topics. But sometimes it’s easier to avoid talking at all.

Like today, when Carl is in danger of being late. He dumps Judith on his Dad’s porch and does a dash, doorbell still ringing as he scrambles back into the car. He doesn’t leave until she’s safe in Rick’s arms, of course, but this way their only communication is an exchange of hands; raised somewhere between a wave and a salute. Carl suspects Rick will never forgive Negan for ‘corrupting his baby boy’, but at least that venom doesn’t extend to their kids. He dotes on them all, and the kids adore Grandpa Rick. If they lived within walking distance for tiny toddling feet, Carl’s pretty sure the three of them would have run away to live with Rick by now. Maybe once they’re in high school. Carl loves his babies to death, but he’ll probably be grateful for the break by then.

Or maybe sometime even sooner, he thinks. He glares at his boys as he joins the all the other honking, irate cars on the school run, as they unsuccessfully attempt to hide their slap and pinch fight in the backseat.

“Don’t make me come back there,” he warns, and cringes at how much he sounds like Lori. He rarely sees his mother these days, and the kids have only met her once or twice. She has a new family now, not that Carl gives much of a shit. They never really gelled; Lori liked the idea of being a mother more than actually being one, and never got involved with Carl’s activities, save for spectating now and again. Carl vowed he would never be that kind of a parent. His kids feel the benefit of his attention, even when they’re separated from him.

Carl is on every committee and club open to him; he coaches the little soccer team, sits on the PTA and volunteers at the community centre. He uses Negan’s money to host fundraisers for local charities at their ginormous house. He’s a helicopter mom, and not ashamed of it. Negan laughs, because he thought his ‘wife’ would be a model or some socialite who wanted to shop all day, not a soccer mom, busy organising this year’s Nativity. (Ron is playing Joseph, Dwight is stubborn about not wearing a silly costume but Carl got him into the choir, and Judith is the twinkling Star. Carl sewed her costume himself.)

But Carl thinks Negan loves it, secretly. He has no other family to speak of; it was just the two of them in their indecently large house, till Carl started filling it with babies. Before Carl, Negan spent his downtime at the Country Club, schmoozing and drinking and charming the ladies. He hadn’t celebrated Christmas in a decade. Now, you can’t move through their house without tripping over a garland, getting caught under mistletoe or being blinded by flashing lights. Carl spends an eye-watering amount on decorations every year, and though his taste is classier than your average mall grotto, stepping through their front door after the 1st of December is like walking through a portal to Lapland. Negan says it looks like a bunch of goddamn elves threw up in there, but Carl just forces Negan to hold up boxes of baubles to him, as he teeters on the ladder beside their twelve foot Christmas tree, and scolds him for not watching his mouth around the children. Negan is never apologetic. But he allows Carl to bully him into hanging the outdoor lights and dressing in a Santa costume on Christmas Eve, so he counts that as a win.

But all that is weeks away still. There’s a bake sale fundraiser and the school’s Christmas Ball to get through before the kids break up for the holidays. Carl drops his boys off at school, embarrassing them both with big kisses, but Carl doesn’t fuck around with their feelings. He needs his babies to know they are loved, no matter how cool and unruffled they wish to appear to their tiny friends. Then he gets down to business.

The bake sale is this afternoon at the community hall, and Carl arrives early to co-ordinate. They set up the room together with a group of volunteers, mostly bored housewives and lonely retirees. Carl rules with an iron fist, sweeping into the room like a hurricane of post-it notes, organised files and allergen tables. He glares across the room at his nemesis, Brenda, who thinks she’s better than him because of her four kids and ability to lead the local chapter of the WI. But Carl won’t take her shit, and she knows it. Last time they squared off at a cake sale, Negan was there, and he carried Carl out over his shoulder to stop him from scratching her eyes out. Carl never forgets a slight though and spends his free minutes plotting revenge.

Carl’s aunt Carol taught him her cookie recipe though, after a decent amount of bribery, and Carl can’t wait to see Brenda’s face once his wares start flying off the table. There’s a prize hamper for the person who raises the most money for the cause, and this year it’s going to be Carl’s. He’s been picturing the way Brenda’s face turns purple with rage for almost three weeks, and he can’t wait for it to become a reality. He smugly sets up his table, confident in his victory. Let the battle begin.


End file.
